Apparently, in Tim's opinion:
- sock shaped tan line on one foot = sexy, boys love that.
- sock shaped BURN on two feet = not sexy, don't tell boys about that.
Sunday, August 30, 2009
Friday, August 28, 2009
According to the September 2009 Issue of Cosmo
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Thursday, August 27, 2009
According to My Boss
J on marriage:
"I view marriage as an institute of slavery designed to make the woman subservient to a man.
I mean, just look at rings? Just put a collar on them and make them fetch! Why not slap a brand on her ass and say 'that's my property!'"
"I view marriage as an institute of slavery designed to make the woman subservient to a man.
I mean, just look at rings? Just put a collar on them and make them fetch! Why not slap a brand on her ass and say 'that's my property!'"
According to Cliched Pick Up Lines
Once, a few years ago when I was still in my typical early twenties need to go to bars on the weekend, and I thought I was really cool because I knew a bar where I never paid cover and was allowed in through the back door, I experienced a moment I'll never forget.
I was waiting in line to get my next drink, when a drunk guy about my age walks up to me and decided to address his opening statement directly to my chest.
"Nice rack." He slurred, not even pretending to look at my face.
I did a bit of a spit take, sans spit, and decided to give this drunk moron the benefit of my sense of humour.
"Uh, thanks?"
Humour, apparently, was not what this guy wanted, because he then followed up with, what will forever remain, the greatest and worst attempt at a pick up line I have ever heard.
"Can I jerk off on it later?"
Again, after momentarily reeling from this, I offer him the benefit of a much less cynical Ashley.
"Haha, uh, no. But that took guts to say, good job." I offered to shake his hand, and he rather indelicately tried to put it on his crotch, at which point I announced, "so, we're done here." And walked away.
In a less vulgar, but still hilariously stupid vein, my boss was recently on the East coast, taking a rather long ferry ride. She and a friend of hers were sitting on a bench, and she became curious about the cover of a book being read by a younger gentleman near by. She craned her neck, turned her head, did all that she could to see the cover stealthily, only to be spotted by the guy before she could.
He began to try having a conversation with her, which she wanted nothing to do with, and finally he insisted a friend of his move so he could sit next to her and then dealt this doozy of a line to her:
"So, I couldn't help but to notice you, noticing me."
She told me this story, and how he subsequently followed her all over the ferry, trying to chat her up, but I just couldn't get past that line. I was laughing to hard to get much more out of the story than that.
I was waiting in line to get my next drink, when a drunk guy about my age walks up to me and decided to address his opening statement directly to my chest.
"Nice rack." He slurred, not even pretending to look at my face.
I did a bit of a spit take, sans spit, and decided to give this drunk moron the benefit of my sense of humour.
"Uh, thanks?"
Humour, apparently, was not what this guy wanted, because he then followed up with, what will forever remain, the greatest and worst attempt at a pick up line I have ever heard.
"Can I jerk off on it later?"
Again, after momentarily reeling from this, I offer him the benefit of a much less cynical Ashley.
"Haha, uh, no. But that took guts to say, good job." I offered to shake his hand, and he rather indelicately tried to put it on his crotch, at which point I announced, "so, we're done here." And walked away.
In a less vulgar, but still hilariously stupid vein, my boss was recently on the East coast, taking a rather long ferry ride. She and a friend of hers were sitting on a bench, and she became curious about the cover of a book being read by a younger gentleman near by. She craned her neck, turned her head, did all that she could to see the cover stealthily, only to be spotted by the guy before she could.
He began to try having a conversation with her, which she wanted nothing to do with, and finally he insisted a friend of his move so he could sit next to her and then dealt this doozy of a line to her:
"So, I couldn't help but to notice you, noticing me."
She told me this story, and how he subsequently followed her all over the ferry, trying to chat her up, but I just couldn't get past that line. I was laughing to hard to get much more out of the story than that.
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
According to the Law of Averages
Go out for a few beers with friends. . . totally seems harmless enough, right? It's a beautiful summer evening (albeit a mockery unto itself, since it only gets nice in Winnipeg when summer is reaching its death rattle. I digress. This blog is going to be more chock full of parenthetical references than a Henry James novel.)
Arrive at the local pub wearing some ridiculously unsuitable footwear. What can I say, it's summer, and it's one of the few times wearing 4 inch peep toe shoes won't immediately lead to pneumonia or death. Or both. So I can and WILL wear my ridiculous shoes. And I did.
Long story (made longer by validating my shoe choices) short, I looked half-way decent. And then, as luck would have it, the friend of my friend's boyfriend (my sister's friend's brother's aunt's cousin knew this guy who. . . you know), well, he turns out to be a pretty solid 7 out of 10. Cute, glasses, beard (kissing a dude with a beard is TOTALLY on my bucket list, no shit), beautiful teeth, sense of humor, good story teller. . . you know, decent boyfriend material. My interest is piqued.
I wait for it. Patiently, like a really demented jungle cat, I wait for the words. And sure enough, about 35 minutes into thinking this guy is totally awesome, and I could easily potentially pretend to be drunker than I am and make out with him in his car later. . . he drops the bomb. The "girlfriend" bomb.
My friend Patrick and I came up with a great concept for this bomb when used improperly. We call it "Boyfriend Tourets" and basically it occurs when you innocently ask to platonically hang out with someone, and they reply "I have a boyfriend/girlfriend!"
Thankfully, it did not come to an outburst, it just dropped casually into conversation. But immediately the reaction is all "dammit all, another one bites the dust."
And the lesson herein, as to "why I'm single"?
It is becoming clear that every guy I show any interest in already has a girlfriend.
Arrive at the local pub wearing some ridiculously unsuitable footwear. What can I say, it's summer, and it's one of the few times wearing 4 inch peep toe shoes won't immediately lead to pneumonia or death. Or both. So I can and WILL wear my ridiculous shoes. And I did.
Long story (made longer by validating my shoe choices) short, I looked half-way decent. And then, as luck would have it, the friend of my friend's boyfriend (my sister's friend's brother's aunt's cousin knew this guy who. . . you know), well, he turns out to be a pretty solid 7 out of 10. Cute, glasses, beard (kissing a dude with a beard is TOTALLY on my bucket list, no shit), beautiful teeth, sense of humor, good story teller. . . you know, decent boyfriend material. My interest is piqued.
I wait for it. Patiently, like a really demented jungle cat, I wait for the words. And sure enough, about 35 minutes into thinking this guy is totally awesome, and I could easily potentially pretend to be drunker than I am and make out with him in his car later. . . he drops the bomb. The "girlfriend" bomb.
My friend Patrick and I came up with a great concept for this bomb when used improperly. We call it "Boyfriend Tourets" and basically it occurs when you innocently ask to platonically hang out with someone, and they reply "I have a boyfriend/girlfriend!"
Thankfully, it did not come to an outburst, it just dropped casually into conversation. But immediately the reaction is all "dammit all, another one bites the dust."
And the lesson herein, as to "why I'm single"?
It is becoming clear that every guy I show any interest in already has a girlfriend.
According to Me
I don't plan to make a habit of this, but today's post is brought to you by Ricard's White (which, indelicately, means that I have had 3 beers, and am therefore not writing a sober post. . . oh Jesus, drunk blogging. . . forgive any spelling or grammar mishaps herein).
So, here it is. Another singleton's blog about being single. But, by way of changing things up, I offer you a new twist on things: this is not a blog about complaining, whining, moaning, bitching, philosophizing as to the demented reason why "oh WHY God did I spend another Friday night alone? Why does no one love me?" Nope. Fuck that, kids. This blog is about me finally learning to not only accept that I am single, but to really embrace it.
It may have taken me 26 years, and a lot of lying to myself, but I can honestly, genuinely (and it's not the beer talking) tell you that I really love where I am in my life. I love the opportunity and freedom that being single allows for me. And fuck knows I love being about to oogle beautiful men at any given moment. (As of this moment, the oogle-ee of my eye is one Alexander Skarsgard, aka Eric Northman on True Blood).
But, being that I haven't really dated since 2004, haven't had sex since last May (almost 16 months if you really need the breakdown), and I have unequivocally the worst lucky humanly possible when it comes to getting mixed signals from men, I have decided to take an in depth look into the reasons for my single status.
These can be genuine reasons (commitmentphobia, abandonment issues), to the outright ridiculous (Cosmo tells me it's inappropriate to disagree with my boyfriend's opinions on things). I want to know why everyone ELSE thinks I'm single. Everyone from Ukrainian grandmothers, to elementary school librarians (the latter of which actually DID have an opinion).
I'm hoping that the absurdity of the reasons may help other singles stop stressing the hell out, and really learn to enjoy time spent with the most important person in your life. You.
So, here it is. Another singleton's blog about being single. But, by way of changing things up, I offer you a new twist on things: this is not a blog about complaining, whining, moaning, bitching, philosophizing as to the demented reason why "oh WHY God did I spend another Friday night alone? Why does no one love me?" Nope. Fuck that, kids. This blog is about me finally learning to not only accept that I am single, but to really embrace it.
It may have taken me 26 years, and a lot of lying to myself, but I can honestly, genuinely (and it's not the beer talking) tell you that I really love where I am in my life. I love the opportunity and freedom that being single allows for me. And fuck knows I love being about to oogle beautiful men at any given moment. (As of this moment, the oogle-ee of my eye is one Alexander Skarsgard, aka Eric Northman on True Blood).
But, being that I haven't really dated since 2004, haven't had sex since last May (almost 16 months if you really need the breakdown), and I have unequivocally the worst lucky humanly possible when it comes to getting mixed signals from men, I have decided to take an in depth look into the reasons for my single status.
These can be genuine reasons (commitmentphobia, abandonment issues), to the outright ridiculous (Cosmo tells me it's inappropriate to disagree with my boyfriend's opinions on things). I want to know why everyone ELSE thinks I'm single. Everyone from Ukrainian grandmothers, to elementary school librarians (the latter of which actually DID have an opinion).
I'm hoping that the absurdity of the reasons may help other singles stop stressing the hell out, and really learn to enjoy time spent with the most important person in your life. You.
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